


Down, Dog

by Alastael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, M/M, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Vinyasa, sub!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alastael/pseuds/Alastael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean might be getting chubby. Cas teaches yoga. It's a bendy weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down, Dog

 Dean glances around the small room, apprehensive. He can't believe he agreed to this. Normally, he can brush off Sam's teasing without a second thought, but once Jess and Lisa had started in, tickling at his thirty-year ponch, it was too much. He wasn't about to give up beer and pie, which left one option: working out. Lisa had been the one to suggest yoga, of course, and had promised to be here to help him through his first class. She wasn't there though, and Dean stares at the gaggle of girls signing in for the class ahead of him. 

 

 Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. He's apparently the only guy here. 

 

He grins to himself, and winks at the girls as they turn to enter the practice room. He steps up to the desk. Shocking blue eyes rise to meet his, and a wide smile spreads across the face of the fucking Adonis sitting across from him. Dean's breath catches, and he suddenly gets why Lisa pressured him into this class. He appreciates beauty, which Lisa understands. His ability to enjoy the finer things is a part of why they couldn't make it work as a couple. Dean has wandering eyes (and hands), and this fucking guy practically emanates flirtatious energy and sensuality, with sex hair to match. And that voice.

 

Dean grins wolfishly. It's low, with a natural growl that makes Dean wonder what he could do to get that voice to drop a few notes. "You must be new," he's leaning across the table, but doesn't offer his hand. "I'm Cas."

 

"Dean," he's still grinning as Cas slides a release form across the desk. 

 

"Fill this out for me, and find a spot. We'll begin shortly." 

 

 

 

It starts out easy enough, with standing and bending and controlled flailing, but Lisa had warned him that the class would be hard -- _it's vinyasa, Dean, so it's not that hippy meditation stuff that you're thinking of_ \-- and fifteen minutes in, he suddenly understands what she meant. He's panting already, despite Cas's repeated instructions to control your breathing, in through the nose, out through the nose. Move with your breath. If that were the case, Dean would be moving at light speed. Sweat beads at his hairline as he struggles to keep up. 

 

 Dean never thought of himself as out of shape, but watching Cas, he realizes that he's a total chunk. At the front of the room, Cas moves effortlessly through the asana. He's thin, smaller than his presence makes him seem, but he's all lean muscle and smooth planes of skin. His thin shirt rides up as he raises his arms, and he has hips like handlebars. 

 

Dean wants a ride. 

 

 By his sixth chaturanga, Dean just wants to lay down and never get up again. But as he wobbles from his millionth (it literally could be, for all he knows, he feels like he's been doing this for years already) uttanasana into down dog (how is this a resting pose), he glances up again to make sure he's doing the right thing, and Cas  winks, fucking winks, and pushes himself up to his feet. Dean looks down between his hands again, shoulders aching in protest.

 

 "Take your asana," Cas murmurs, weaving through the room. Dean can hear him padding along, stopping to occasionally whisper to one of the girls. As Dean pushes himself up from cobra, he feels Cas ghosting up beside him.

 

 "Is it okay if I move you?" His mouth is entirely too close, and Dean can feel his face flush as it hangs between his arms.

 

 "Uh, yeah," But Dean feels embarrassingly unprepared for it, starting as Cas places his hands against the small of his back, one pushing gently while the other slides down to Dean's shoulderblades. Dean instinctively arches, his back straightening under the other mans touch. 

 

 "Good, Dean. You want your back straight, from hands to hips." The hands slide away, leaving warm trails on Dean's skin through the fabric of his shirt. Dean feels him leaning in again. "You can always change things, if you're not comfortable. I don't want this to be a bad experience for you." Dean doesn't answer, and Cas is suddenly back to his spot in front of the mirrors. 

 

The remaining time struggles by, and Dean finds himself using the view of Cas's ass as an incentive to stick it out. It ends with shavasana. Cas offers a brief massage to everyone during their meditation, and states, "If you'd rather not, place your palms down on your mat." Dean closes his eyes, palms up, and attempts to clear his mind. He's certain that if his body didn't feel like it was on fire, he would fall asleep. 

 

 This time, he's not surprised when Cas's long fingers brush through his hair, gently rubbing at his scalp. He scratches gently, and rubs featherlight circles into Dean's temples. It shouldn't feel this good, Dean thinks, and he cracks an eye open to look at Cas. He looks serious, more so than he's looked so far, studying Dean in the studio's low light. His gaze traces the planes of Dean's chest and up, taking in his jaw, his cheekbones, freckles. He licks his lips, pink and dry, and bites softly at the lower, as though he's trying to concentrate. He catches Dean's stare and a smile tugs at his lips, but it's not as warm, not as easy, as the ones he gave for the class. He pulls his hands back, and moves on. 

 

 After class, Dean lingers, watching Cas laugh with the girls as they roll up their mats and make their way out. A few give him hugs, and more of them touch him on the arm or waist as they go. Dean notices that he never touches them, and he catches himself wondering if he's slept with any of them. The last girl out, a ginger, leans close to whisper in Cas's ear. Dean watches his face flush at her words, and Cas stares right back. Finally, she leaves, turning to wink at Dean over her shoulder. 

 

 As he makes his way out, Cas is rummaging for a duffel bag behind the desk. Dean moves in inches, hoping to catch Cas's attention before he actually makes it to the door and has to come back -- that would just be awkward.

 

 "Dean!" Cas beckons, pulling socks and sneakers from the bag. They're beat to hell. "What did you think of the class?" 

 

 "Man, it's tough. Not really what I expected. I think I gotta set the bar a little lower, you know?" Dean watches Cas crouch, fingers working the laces of the shoes.

 

 "You did well, though. You should definitely do a few more classes before you decide. Jenn has a class on Wednesdays; it's a little more relaxed. You could try that one." 

 

 Dean dismisses the thought with a shrug. "Nah, I work. Sundays really are the best for me."

 

 Cas smiles up at Dean, and stands, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. "I usually go for a run after class, if you'd like to join me." 

 

 Groaning, Dean shakes his head. "Thanks, but no way. I already feel like I'm going to collapse. How about breakfast instead?" The words left Dean's mouth before he had a proper moment to think about it. Cas tilts his head in a way that suggests genuine curiosity about the offer, and Dean can almost see the gears turning. It's adorable. He suddenly needs to spend the next few hours with this man. 

 

 "Sure. But you're driving." 

 

 

 

 It had been some all organic-local-free range place, which Dean's stomach had enjoyed but his wallet had abhorred. But he'd paid for the both of them, thirty bucks for breakfast. They discussed the class, workouts, and an apparent shared love of trash television and b-movies.

 

As he pulls up outside the apartment, some overpriced hipster dreampad that was once a high school, Cas studies Dean as though solving the mysteries of the universe. Finally, he asks, "Would you like to come in? I have tea and every season of Gossip Girl." 

 

 Dean imagines bending Cas in half, forcing him into the same obscene angles he saw in class earlier. "Make it coffee and Flipping Out and it's a deal." 

 

 If Dean had any reservations about Cas's sexuality, they evaporate the moment he enters the third story studio loft. It's immaculate, clean and organized. He imagined it in earth tones, but the walls are neutral, save for one deep purple accent wall. Mounted there is an enormous flatscreen, and Dean's jaw drops. Cas is blushing as he moves through the kitchen to start an electric kettle. 

 

 The coffee machine is one of those one-cup things, so it's mere moments before Cas thrusts a rusty orange mug with an ornate handle into Dean's hands. "Cream or sugar?" 

 

 Dean shakes his head, examining the collage of papers and photos tacked up on the side of the fridge as he sips. Most of the pictures are of Cas with another man, a tall blonde who looks like he might have a few extra years on him. They travel a lot, apparently - Times Square, Muir Woods, Millenium Park, Zion. Cas looks exuberant in each, hair wild and eyes wide behind aviator sunglasses, a grin plastered across his face. 

 

Dean steps back, looking around again as Cas pours water over a tea bag. The space is small, but with high ceilings and it appears the bedroom consists of a small loft area, big enough to just fit a queen bed. He lets out a low whistle. "Nice place you got here. Yoga pays well, eh?" 

 

 Cas is still beet-red, and he mumbles, "Something like that," without meeting Dean's gaze, and he totally gets it. Cas is some hot, young yoga instructor, and (Dean imagines) he fucks like a champ. That guy in the photos has to be his sugar daddy or something. Dean feels a flare of jealousy as he follows Cas to the couch. 

 

They both flop down, and Cas toes off his sneakers as the DVR loads. Dean does the same. He leans back into the couch, and puts an arm across the back, his hand just reaching where Cas is seated at the other end. He can see those baby blues watching him, but keeps his eyes forward as Cas flips through the shows. Cas turns on Flipping Out, as decided, and inches closer to Dean as he sits back. 

 

 They watch trashy tv. 

 

 That damn Gramercy house. 

 

 "Gage is such a whiny bitch," Dean groans as Cas fast forwards through the commercials. 

 

 "Really? I think he's just..." Cas pauses, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, and Dean nearly surges forward to bite at his mouth himself. "Under appreciated. He put a lot of work into Gramercy, he saw something there that Jeff completely disregarded. I think his being a whiny bitch is fully justified." He stares at Dean, as though waiting for an answer. 

 

 "Under appreciated, huh?" Dean chuckles. "There are other ways to show appreciation besides taking a million dollar dive on a house that your boyfriend wants." 

 

 "True," Cas mumbles, rolling his eyes a little. Just a little. Dean smirks, but before he can comment, Cas puts his hand on Deans thigh, leaning forward slightly. "By the way, did I thank you for breakfast, Dean?" 

 

 It feels so dirty, the way Cas seems to imply that he considers trading sex for food an adequate way to show gratitude, but Dean can't stop the rush of blood to his groin at Cas's touch. "I don't know, man, I don't know how appreciated I feel." 

 

It's meant as a joke, but it sounds filthy to Dean. Cas must agree, because his hand has twisted itself into the fabric of Deans shirt, and he's kissing him. It's sudden and fierce and immediately, Deans mouth opens, tongue brushing that bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth, teeth scraping the tender flesh. Cas moans, and pushes himself forward.

 

 Heavier than he looks, Dean thinks, as Cas straddles his lap. His arms snake around Deans neck, kissing him like he's starving for it. His lips trail along Deans jaw, down his neck, and Deans erection presses achingly against Cas's ass through his shorts. "You know, you just fucking met me. How do you know I'm not going to, like, rape and murder you?"

 

 Cas's mouth doesn't leave the skin of Dean's neck, where he's sucking the blood to the surface, but Dean can feel a huff of laughter. "I think I can take you."

 

 Dean will take that challenge. 

 

 He growls, and turns, pushing Cas off and down against the couch. He has no doubt that Cas is stronger than him, and the thought that he's just letting this happen makes Dean wild with want, the desire to take take take like fire in his blood. Their lips crush together, and Dean pins Cas with his body, hands grasping tightly at his waist. Cas arches below him, rutting their crotches together and gasping into Dean's mouth. He presses a leg between Cas's, and sits up. "You should take that shit off."

 

 Cas grins up at him, and scrambles to pull the clothes off his body. Dean follows suit, and kneels between Cas's legs. He doesn't touch him; instead, he spits into his palm and reaches to stroke his own cock. Cas watches, panting, pupils blown. "Fuck, Dean." 

 

 Dean smirks down at him, brushing his first two fingers over the head to collect the precome collecting at his slit. Pushing the fingers against Cas's lips, he instructs, "Suck."

 

 Cas groans, and takes Dean's fingers into his mouth, tongue pressing at the space between them and swirling at the tips. He sucks, teeth brushing over Dean's knuckles. When Dean takes his hand back, Cas chases the motion. He keeps going though, and Dean almost yelps as Cas folds at the hips and licks at the leaking tip of Dean's cock. His hands fist in Cas's wild, dark hair as he runs his tongue along the shaft, returning to the tip to lavish small, teasing licks there. Finally, he takes Dean's length into his mouth, wasting no time as he begins to suck his dick like it was what he was born to do. One hand grips Deans thigh while the other fists around the base of his dick as his hips stutter forward.

 

 "Jesus fuck, Cas," Dean grits out as Cas begins to move his hand and his mouth in rhythm. "You're such a fucking slut for this." Cas's moan is just a vibration around his cock and Dean bucks forward, hitting the back of his throat. "Want to fuck that pretty mouth, make you choke on my come-- fuck," He looks down at Cas as he slows, tugging Cas's hair to urge him forward. He stares up at Dean as he swallows around the tip, nose pressed against His stomach, and Dean let's out a choked sound before pulling his hips back. He slips from Cas's mouth with a wet pop, and Cas sits up, face flush and lips red.

 

 A smirk tugs at the side of Cas's mouth. "Thought you were coming down my throat?" 

 

 "Uhn, I'll come wherever the fuck I want," Dean grabs Cas's jaw, pulling him in to kiss those swollen lips. He can taste himself. "Want to fuck that tight little ass of yours first." 

 

 Cas has a hand wrapped around his own cock now, fucking his fist slowly. Dean groans at the sight, and Cas's smirk spreads across his face. He stops abruptly, and leaps up from the couch. "I have a better place for this." 

 

Dean let's himself be led up the small flight of stairs to the loft, cock bobbing painfully between his legs as he watches Cas's ass sway ahead of him. It's a fucking nest, bed draped in red and purple sheets and pillows that Dean couldn't even begin to count. There's just a tiny nightstand and minimal floor space, so Dean covers the distance between them with a stride and digs his fingers into the wings of Cas's hips, rutting his erection against the crack of his ass. 

 

Sucking at the back of the younger man neck -- he decides Cas has be younger than him, because nobody over thirty approaches sex with this much enthusiasm -- he growls, "Going to make you scream for me, baby. Gonna fuck the blue right out of your eyes." Cas groans when Dean shoves him onto the bed, face down. His hips cant up immediately, face buried against the pillows, and Dean can't fucking believe this is his life. 

 

The lube is right there on the nightstand, and he rub two pumps of it between his hands and over his cock, slicking himself as Cas's ass wags expectantly. "Bet I could just push right in, if your ass is half a slutty as that mouth of yours," Dean murmurs as he kneels between Cas's spread legs. He presses a finger against the entrance, and Cas just lets him in. 

 

He fucks lazily with one, then two fingers, scissoring him open. His other hand grips Cas's hip, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave an angry mark, to hold him still as he crooks his fingers inside to brush his prostate. A broken moan slips past Cas's lips, and Dean pulls his fingers out to spread Cas's cheeks. He's just so fucking perfect, tight little ass pressing back against the head of Dean's cock as his fingers fist in the sheets, voice cracking between breaths, "Dean, please, pease, fuck, Dean--" 

 

 Dean mimics what Cas did earlier, sliding his hand down his back to hold him at the base of his neck. "Since you asked so nicely." Cas does scream as he buries himself in that wet heat, bottoming out on the first thrust. He stops then, and leans forward over Cas, pressing his upper body painfully into the mattress. "Shit, Cas, was that okay?"

 

 The response is just a low, affirmative noise, and Dean laughs softly against the skin of Cas's shoulder. He take a moment to suck a bruise there before he begins moving in earnest. "Such a fucking slut for me, baby, you fucking love this, don't you, getting that hot little body filled by fucking strangers--" Dean knows he can't make this last. The filthy noises coming from the man beneath him as Dean pounds into him, hitting that spot, are too much. His hips stutter erratically as he thinks of other men, that guy in the picture, fucking Cas but now Dean's taking him, making him his, marking that lithe body inside and out. He makes a guttural sound, fisting Cas's hair as he pulls him up. 

 

 Cas's back arches in a way that Dean imagines would be painful for anyone else, and Dean tugs experimentally on the hair in his fist. Cas gasps, arms shaking as he holds himself up and braces against the brutal pace Dean has set. One hand reaches to grasp the headboard, the other sliding down to jerk sloppily at his cock, and Dean just fucking loses it. 

 

He releases Cas's hair, and grabs those perfect hips with both hands, thrusting balls-deep into his ass, brushing that sweet spot with every drag in and out. "Jesus fuck, Cas, going to come-- gonna make you mine, baby, you won't be able to,walk for--uh w-week, fuck, Cas, you're so fucking good," Dean growls a flow of dirty nonsense, and Cas comes with a shout, spending on his hands, his belly, the bed below. Dean gets one more good thrust in before he follows, shooting his load deep.

 

 They collapse together, Dean's weight pressing Cas into the mattress. Cas doesn't protest, so Dean breathes against Cas's back, sticky with sweat, waiting for his heart to slow down. Cas is limp beneath him, panting and whimpering softly when Dean pulls his softening cock out, and rolls to one side. 

 

Cas turns his head against the sheets to look at Dean. He looks thoroughly fucked-out, and Dean grins, leaning to kiss at the other man's shoulder. 

 

 "Well, fuck. What do I get if I buy you dinner?" 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by/during my first vinyasa class post-fandom immersion. It was a distracting train of thought, to say the least. 
> 
> Unbeta'd first attempt at total filthy fun. Notice anything amiss? Let me know! I write on an iPad so it's easy for me to miss mistakes.


End file.
